


Secret Injury

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parent Chuck Shurley, Belphegor (Mentioned) but not exactly by name, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Chuck Shurley is God, Dead Jack Kline, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Episode: s15e01 Back and to the Future, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), I'm crying that I have to put that tag, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Secret Injury, Whumptober 2019, he shows up at the end, he's not dead at first, this counts as bad parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 12:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21161777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Castiel looks to God for answers about Jack, but all he gets from his father is betrayal.





	Secret Injury

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 24 of Whumptober 2019.  
Prompt: secret injury
> 
> I know there's a cliffhanger at the end, but I sort of wanted this to go along with the episodes, so this is staying as just a one-shot, though I do leave Cas' injury undealt with. My apologies, but I did have a lot of fun writing Chuck in this. The dude likes to hear himself talk.

“You know Jack’s gotta go, right?”

“What?”

Castiel had been searching for Jack, had been to Heaven, had scoured the Earth, had even tried reaching out into Hell for his boy. And Jack had yet to come to him. He was surely fearful, thought that his family would harm him after… after Mary.

Castiel couldn’t possibly dream of it. Not him, not his boy, his son.

He’d been about to head back to the bunker, to check in with Sam and Dean, to… to have them see sense. They’d talked, they’d yelled, Dean had broken a chair. And their boy was still gone. Nothing they did was good enough.

But now here was his father, standing before him, in jeans, a blue button up shirt, a red jacket. There was a slight smile on his face, as if he hadn’t said some of the most monstrous words Castiel had ever heard.

He’d found him in an alley, just after attempting to get into Hell, and no light shone over their meeting, clouds blocking out the stars and the moon.

“Walk with me, Castiel,” God said, hand out, ready for Cas to come to him, like a good son, a good soldier.

Castiel’s lip curled up in a snarl, nose crinkling.

“What did you say about Jack?” he asked, daring him to repeat it, though he’d heard him perfectly fine the first time.

“Lucifer’s son, the nephilim, the abomination, he’s without a soul, he’s dangerous. He’s too powerful.”

“Then fix him!” Castiel growled.

All of him wanted to lunge at God, slam him against a wall, grab his shoulders and demand answers. Where had he been? What he had been doing? Had he just been watching? Why hadn’t he been helping Why do this to Jack? Why do this to him? To them? Did he even care? What was _wrong_ with him?

Castiel just wanted to scream.

He had thought facing God would help, that talking with him would breed answers, but the first words out of his mouth had dripped with unfettered poison.

Castiel had no need to reach out his Grace, to feel, to sense if this truly was his father. The power and divinity about him was nearly enough to buckle his knees, have his breath catch in his throat, and lower his wings against his back. The only reason he remained upright was because that crushing power was not placed against him.

God shrugged. “I can’t.”

“God,” Castiel began. His father made a face, wincing, so Castiel tried again, “Chuck, please, what am I to do? We’re losing him.”

Chuck snapped his fingers and now they were in a garden. Based on the design, the flowing stream, the latticed architecture of the bridge, the trees with their petals hanging down, the lily pads, and the sweeping structures of tile over the arches they passed under he figured they were somewhere in China.

Odd destination for their talk, but he wasn’t going to mention it.

Out past the garden were trees, shrubs, fields, so they were somewhere rural, and wouldn’t be interrupted. Unless his father had seen it fit to freeze time for them to have this chat.

“He’s already lost,” he told him, walking along the bridge. Water trickled and there were tiny plashes as it moved over the smoothened rocks beneath.

Castiel tensed his shoulders, clenched his jaw, but followed him over the bridge. Oh, he hated how tranquil it was here, how beautiful, how his father was here, and all he was hearing was that his son was doomed.

“No, he’s not,” Castiel insisted. “He’s still alive. You’ve brought me back from nothing.”

Chuck shook his head, making a face. “No, no. See, that wasn’t nothing. You see, when Lucifer uh…” He made a gesture with his hands, having them move outwards, and then declared, “_Boom!_” He went back to his normal stance, even had a hand in his pocket, and continued, “—there was a teensy tiny little blood cell that lingered in the air that hadn’t yet gotten to the ground, and I rebuilt you from that.”

“And what about Leviathan?” Castiel demanded.

Chuck waved his hand.

“Oh, that? Traces of your memory, spirit, and DNA still existed in the world. Easy, just a quick thought, a little burrowing into Dean’s deeply disturbing and perverted mind — the fantasies he has about you, wow! — and then you were back. Not all back to normal. Dean kinda had to do the last bit. Thought he’d have more fun that way, though I did consider having him find you naked. Think you would’ve liked that too, but—”

“So why can’t Jack be saved?”

Chuck rolled his eyes, and got in front of him, leaning against an archway they were now under.

“His soul’s gone, Cas.”

“But you can _make_ souls. You’re God.”

“Yeah, but that’s just a name. You think I like running around with this divine power weighing down my nicely toned shoulders?”

Castiel squinted his eyes at him, head tilted, observing him.

Chuck shook his head, waved his hand again as if dismissing the thought. “Don’t answer that.”

He grabbed Cas by the elbow, leading him farther down the path. The path of meticulously laid tile was widening out now, thinning into polished stone, and then gravel. It fanned out on either side, and they came to a dawn redwood, its leaves which were a vivid orange looking purple against the night sky, with the darkness lying about it.

“Jack’s dangerous,” he explained. “He’s a killer.”

“_So am I,_” Castiel stated, words gruff, willing to stand by them.

His son had done wrong, but he wasn’t bad. There wasn’t good, just the absence of it. There was hope there.

“Give him his soul back, and this can all be fixed.”

“You know you can’t go back from this, right? Sam and Dean won’t forgive him.”

“They’ve forgiven me for my faults. They’ve forgiven each other. You built humans with forgiveness whether you like it or not. They— _We_ will move past this. But if you don’t help, Jack could get hurt.”

“You think someone without a soul can get hurt? They don’t _care_. That’s the essence of a soul, of being. It’s-it’s existence, it’s empathy, it’s heart, it’s personality. Jack’s gone. That thing walking around with his face is all power, no Jack. And you want to, what? Play babysitter with it? How’s that gonna go? I’m sure you’d do great until he has a temper tantrum, then bye-bye this.” He spread his arms out. “No more China. Or uh… maybe Mexico. Or-or Canada. 

“I _like_ Canada, Cas. They have Sugar Shacks. You know what a Sugar Shack is? It’s these restaurants with traditional Québécois food and they put maple syrup that they make themselves, right out there in the woods, all over everything, even the mashed potatoes, and then they have traditional bands come in, and you dance. Uh huh. You want to say bye to that? ‘Cause I don’t. And what about _Star Wars_? You want to see _Episode IX_, don’t you?”

“Now you’re listing material things in the hopes that it’ll sway me. But what about my son? You said nothing about family in that. He’s still Jack. He’s afraid, I know it. And Sam and Dean, they don’t understand, not yet. But if you did something, if you _said_ something—”

“Cas, how many times we gotta go over this? You’re little baby boo is too powerful.”

Castiel had unfortunately paid attention to most of what Chuck had said, given that he was an angel, and it was difficult to not have an attention span, but he’d wanted to ignore him, but now when he really did focus it almost seemed as if his father’s fingers were trembling, and he was holding his palms together in a plea.

“You’re scared of him,” Castiel reasoned.

Chuck drew back. “What? No.”

Castiel took a step towards him, angel blade out now, and Chuck was faltering away, till his back was almost against the tree, leaves and branches hanging around them.

“You are.”

He laughed, nervous.

“You got the wrong idea. He’s just a kid.”

“Then why bother with getting rid of him?”

“A powerful kid?”

“And that’s why you’re afraid.”

Quick as lightning, Chuck disarmed him; Castiel hadn’t even seen him move. Castiel found himself on his back, Chuck’s knee rammed against his collarbone, the angel blade to his throat, his father’s eyes glowing a color there was no human word for because it could only be perceived by the divine.

“Say nothing to Sam and Dean. I will show myself tomorrow, and you will act as if this meeting never happened. I tried to talk sense into you, Castiel. I really did. You’re one of my favorites. You truly are. But I suppose every writer has to kill their darlings one way or another. But not yet. So I’ll just give you a reminder.”

Chuck stood, dropped the blade, and before Castiel could rise, his father was holding his hand out over him.

Searing pain alighted in his body, and he curled up onto his side, screaming. His eyes squeezed shut, and he was unaware of anything but the pain, and what was happening to him. Enochian was getting carved straight through his Grace, and then outwards into his vessel, damaging him till he was burning, and aching, and sore.

It stopped after what seemed like hours of torment, the sun rising, Castiel’s very being throbbing and pleading for help.

But his father righted him, looked him in the eye, told him everything would be alright, brushed the dirt off of him, patted his cheek, and then left him outside the bunker.

Castiel kept his injury hidden from his family until they were in the mausoleum. It got the better of him, and he collapsed beside Jack’s body. A tear rolled from his eye into his hair from being beside what was supposed to house his son, what was part of his son. And his eyes were missing.

His father…

Oh, his father had done all this.

Despite his anger, Dean was rushing over to him.

“Cas? Cas, what is it?”

“Chuck, he…”

He couldn’t explain anymore, insides throbbing, feeling _wrong_, and the injuries in his Grace sliced through him. His wings ached.

Quickly, Sam and Dean moved him away from the body of their son and got his tie undone and his shirt unbuttoned, and they gasped when they saw the state of his torso. Castiel hadn’t even looked at it, but he did now, lifting his head up. His skin was marred with dark purple and red blotches, all over his chest, his abdomen. Dean claimed they were hot to the touch, but Castiel didn’t much care, was too busy wincing when he put his hand over him.

“That’s a lot of internal bleeding,” Sam said.

“What did he do to you?”

“Doesn’t matter. You have to get out of here. Leave me, I’ll stay with…” He trailed off, head tilting to the right. His throat swelled, grief tearing through him.

Betrayal ripped at his chest, and his Grace screeched. Castiel cried out, tilting his head back, back arching, legs coming up as he bent his knees. The grief was too much, the betrayal, the way his family had distanced themselves from him, their current situation. He just had to scream.

Sam and Dean’s ears were bleeding when he was done.

“Go. Get out,” he told them. “I’ll be fine.” Dean met his eyes, a thousand apologies in them, and then a deep, burning anger, the intensity of a thousand suns. Castiel pressed his lips together tightly, meeting his look with one of his own.

_How could you, Dean Winchester?_ it said. _How could you?_

Dean pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was rough, and his stubble scratched at his skin, and then his teeth bared in a pained expression, so raw. Sam just knelt by him, crying.

“Cas, you get back to us, okay?” Sam said.

Castiel wasn’t sure he wanted to, but they were all he knew, and after what his father had done…

He nodded.

This was the moment where usually they’d grip his hands, they’d say goodbye, they’d find a way out, but there was none of that, just distance and separation.

Castiel leaned his head back down, whimpering, the agonies in him becoming too much.

Dean growled, “Your own god damn fault you hid that from us.”

Cas resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Sam let out a rumbling noise from his chest, a wordless communication to tell Dean to lay off.

The undead began to crawl their way in.

Jack’s body stood up.


End file.
